


look at me, and i'll be your design

by dude_dude_dude



Category: South Park RPF
Genre: 1990s, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Drugs, Jealousy, Lapdance, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dude_dude_dude/pseuds/dude_dude_dude
Summary: Digging a hand in his pocket, he withdrew a twenty and slid it into the waist of Trey’s pants.“What’s that for?” Trey asked.“You’re dancing for me, aren’t you?”
Relationships: Trey Parker/Matt Stone
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	look at me, and i'll be your design

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Wait by The Tech Thieves, because I’m incapable of coming up with titles that aren’t song lyrics apparently. 
> 
> Also, thanks for dropping by <3

In the strip club’s reddish light, Trey’s blond ends looked pink. The amount of money lining their pockets was outrageous, the kind of wad that had Matt finally understanding the necessity of money clips pretentious mob bosses flashed in movies. Drawing it from the bank felt like a robbery, even though it was all theirs. 

None of this felt real. L.A. still didn’t feel real. And those chick’s tits definitely weren’t real. 

“Go for her,” Trey said between loud, wet chews of gum. He pointed at the girl he’d selected; she noticed, turning on her stilettos and walking straight for Matt, eyes fixing on him like a wild cat tracking a wildebeest. 

Trey burst into laughter, slamming his hands against his seat’s armrests. “Oh shit, man!” 

Oh shit, indeed. 

Up close, she was striking, and not in a bad way: piercing blue eyes, long strawberry-blonde ringlets, lips glistening with thick gloss. Her pretty face more than made up for the obviously fake breasts stuffed into her silver two-piece. “Want a dance, honey?” she asked. She sounded bored.

“Yeah,” Trey shouted over the music. “He really does!” 

“How much?” Matt asked, and wow, that made him seem an instant creep, huh. That was the kind of thing you asked after rolling your window down in a dodgy backstreet.

She winked, unoffended. “Whatever you think its worth.” 

Clearly, she assumed neither of them were rich. Why would she with what they were wearing? They’d picked somewhere decent, and the current clientele were all suited; it was a wonder they’d been allowed inside at all, Matt in khakis and sneakers, Trey in leather pants and one of his loud, oversized shirts half-tucked in at the waist. Her dance was half-hearted, a little preoccupied, and not very close. She reached out to touch Matt’s hair like it was a novelty, but she mostly touched herself, hands sliding over her body in mesmerizing, fluid movements.

Leaning her silicone chest an inch from his face, she said into Matt’s ear, “Right about now you should be putting your hand in your pocket.” 

“God, sorry.” 

As he dug in his pocket for some bills, he caught Trey’s eye; he was failing spectacularly to hide his loud sniggering behind his hands. Pulling out a handful of notes, not even checking if they were ones or fifties, Matt raised them to the pearly strap of the chick’s G-string.

“Don’t be shy,” she said, noticing his concern.

They’d had it rammed into their heads since they arrived that they couldn’t touch the dancers and sliding money into what could loosely be called clothing crossed dangerously close to that. She took the bills, bent them down the middle, then slid them under the thin strap at her hip with her manicured fingers. 

“Can my friend get a dance too?” Matt asked. In the corner of his eye, Trey tensed. 

She turned to Trey, still flexing her hips over Matt’s lap, and said, “Your turn next, sweetie.” 

It almost sounded like a threat.

*

Handing over so much cash at the club meant they’d had to draw more from an ATM for the cab. Trey had blown through his night’s budget fast, everything going downhill after his second line. He’d tipped the bartenders more than the cost of the drinks. At the poles, he’d gotten sucked into the fun of throwing handfuls of bills at the dancers and watching them “swim” in them as they rained down. He’d even gone to tip the shitty DJ to make him play something heavier before Matt talked him out of it. 

They rolled into their apartment past 2AM, heads spinning. If they didn’t have to be at the studio in the morning, they’d have stayed until the strip joint closed, if it ever did. 

“That was wild,” Matt said, flopping onto the sofa and supressing a yawn. He hadn’t done as much coke as Trey, so that probably explained his fatigue while Trey remained visibly wired. 

“That ginger chick was out of this world,” Trey said, fumbling at the CD player. “I mean, for a ginger chick, you know?” 

Matt laughed. Trey must’ve thrown over five-hundred dollars at that particular otherworldly redhead. He was almost jealous. 

The moment Primus’s _Brown Album_ came through the speakers, Trey started dancing, if you could call it that. While ‘dancing’, he grabbed the nearest bottle (vodka), topped up his high with a swig of it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His shirt was unbuttoned so low it might as well have been open.

“I think that Candy had a crush on you,” Trey slurred, rolling his hips like he was riding a slow-moving mechanical bull, waving his arms in time with the bassline, and spilling at least three shots of vodka down his back.

“Which one?” Matt asked with a laugh. “I swear they were all called Candy.”

Trey’s dancing was a nice change of scenery, he had to admit. The amount of shaving rashes he’d seen tonight, on so many stick-thin girls whose bones almost pressed through their skin; it made him appreciate Trey’s hairy chest, and that roll of grabbable puppy fat on his belly.

“C’mere,” Matt said, coaxing Trey over, because there was another part of this scenery change that interested him. A whole night of looking and not touching, wanting but not getting. . . 

Digging a hand in his pocket, he withdrew a twenty and slid it into the waist of Trey’s pants.

“What’s that for?” Trey asked. 

“You’re dancing for me, aren’t you?” 

With a coy glance at Matt’s lap, Trey bit his lip. “Guess so.” 

“Go on then.” Matt glanced at the bucks hanging from Trey’s waist, then up into his eyes. They were blown so wide they were almost black, and it was either the coke or because he was horny. Either way, he looked wrecked. 

Trey started dancing again, no longer following the beat, but doing a pretty good impersonation of the girls at the strip joint. Staring down at Matt—giving him more of his attention with those sparkling eyes than any of the dancers had tonight—he swayed his hips from side to side and stroked a hand over his exposed chest.

“Yeah,” Matt said, humming thoughtfully. He leant back and bent his arms behind his head, looking Trey up and down. “You’re a little slut, huh?” If he’d had even five percent of the confidence he had around Trey with those girls, he’d probably have gone home with one of them. Though that was more Trey’s style.

Cheeks pink, Trey swept back his droopy bangs before kneeing Matt’s thighs apart and shuffling between. Matt rewarded him with another bill.

Biting his lip, Trey watched him shove the money into his pants and mumbled, “That’s hot, man.”

“Want some more?”

Trey nodded urgently. 

“Then work for it.” 

They were getting carried away. Trey was almost sobering up, a look of concentration on his face as he pulled open his shirt and fingered his nipple. That woke Matt up more than a line of coke ever could. He pulled another twenty from his pocket and held it between two fingers. Trey’s eyes locked onto it, following it like a cat follows a toy as Matt waved it from side to side.

“You’d do anything for a few dollars.” 

“Yeah,” Trey breathed.

“The answer is, ‘Yes, sir.’”

Trey closed his eyes and gasped quietly. “Yes, sir,” he said, voice hoarse with arousal.

That got Matt hard, which was no surprise. He tossed the money at Trey’s feet, and after he’d bent to retrieve it, did something that would’ve had him thrown out of the club: he grabbed his dancer by the shirt and pulled them onto his lap.

With Trey straddling him, his hot skin close enough to touch, Matt kissed him hungrily. It had been far too long since they’d made out—they’d been too fucking busy for any of that. The pent-up frustration of a night ogling beautiful women gave their kiss a fresh energy, at least on Matt’s side. Trey was his usual self, panting and limp, letting Matt do whatever he wanted, which right now was grab a handful of his hair and tongue his mouth.

“How much?” Matt mumbled against his lips, kneading Trey’s waist.

“For another dance?”

“For a fuck.” 

Trey’s gasp was more of a hiss, his fingertips digging into Matt’s shoulders and _clawing_ at him. It’d been even longer since they’d done that. Rubbing Trey’s crotch, he got hard under his palm.

“I—” Trey whimpered, swallowing as Matt continued palming his groin. “I’m. . . not like that, sir.” Their eyes met and Trey subtly yet seriously shook his head.

Matt wouldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed, but he got it, and he’d respect it. Trey wasn’t always ready or willing to take his dick. Though, that didn’t mean they couldn’t still have fun.

“Then how much to suck your dick?” That was just as mouth-watering an idea. He unfastened Trey’s pants before he answered, popping the top button and sliding the zipper down, licking his lips in anticipation as the bills tumbled from Trey’s waistline and scattered across the couch. Trey always went commando in leather. Tonight was no exception.

“Oh shit.” Trey gulped, head lolling back as Matt fisted his dick, jerking it slow but with a firm, unforgiving grip. 

“I asked you a question, slut.” 

Trey’s dick twitched in his hand. “I . . . I don’t . . .” He swallowed down a gasp as Matt pumped him faster. “Two hundred.” 

“Better be the best dick ever for that price.” 

Grabbing Trey’s hips, Matt yanked him forward, forcing him to steady his hands on the wall above his head. He slipped a hand under the leather, warm from Trey’s skin, and grabbed a handful of his ass to pull him closer still, forcing his hips to arch into his face. He devoured Trey’s dick, let its length slide over his tongue until it hit the back of his throat. Trey whined, jolting from the shock of it. 

Trey got harder in his mouth. Matt had to groan at how that felt, being able to get Trey like this so fast, even when he was high. He gripped Trey’s thigh, keeping him steady while he sucked him, worried he might collapse if he let go. It wouldn’t have been the first time his legs had buckled thanks to a fucking good blow job. 

Matt broke for air, panting as he asked the most rhetorical question ever: “Like getting your dick sucked, don’t you?” 

Nodding weakly, Trey stared down at him, squeezing a handful of Matt’s curls in his fist. “Only by you.” 

The raw, intoxicated honesty in Trey’s words prickled hot under Matt’s skin. Trey cupped a hand under Matt’s chin, fingertips rasping over day-old stubble as they stared at each other. This eye-contact was more intimate than the taste of Trey’s dick on his tongue or the fact that it was bobbing beside his face currently, smearing saliva across his cheek. 

“Lie down,” Matt whispered. Their dumb little game was over. He wanted Trey, now, and all to himself.

Trey did as he was told. Clambering off Matt’s lap, he stretched out across the couch as Matt bent to suck him again. The weak, breathy whimpers Trey made over the music had goosebumps raising on his arms. Both of Trey’s hands slipped into his hair, fingernails clawing not-so-gently at his scalp in time with Matt’s lapping tongue. It sent shudders of need into Matt’s groin, and god he wished he could fuck him right now; he looked so damn helpless like this. 

Matt had to unbutton his khakis and jerk off. There was no way he could cope otherwise, without humping Trey’s leg like a dog. Trey sounded that good. 

Trey arched into his mouth, almost choking him, and Matt pushed his hips back down. He pinned him like that for a while, knowing full well that Trey couldn’t help himself when he was close, stroking his thumb along his hipbone as he sucked him good and hard.

“Matt. . .” Trey mumbled. Then, more urgently: “Matt! Fuck—I’m gonna come.” 

He always pulled away. Only once had Trey come in his mouth before he could warn him: when Matt had given him head to calm him down before their first proper meeting with the network executives. The memory made him cringe. Anyone might’ve heard them in those gents’, two bodies crammed into a cubicle, Trey gripping the toilet paper dispenser so hard it came off the wall. Matt had spat Trey’s load into the pan, called him an asshole, and they’d moved on with their lives. 

Perhaps it was what Trey said that made him want something different tonight. “Only by you.” Fuck. Why had that gotten under his skin?

Trey tugged Matt’s hair and writhed with the effort of withholding his orgasm while Matt’s lips stayed locked almost down to his balls. 

“Matt, seriously-fuck!”

Matt thumbed his hip encouragingly, not stopping, and Trey worked it out at last. He came with a broken wail, limp hands dropping from Matt’s curls as a mouthful of come hit the back of his throat. 

Swallowing around a dick was tricky, but Matt managed, supressing his gag reflex when Trey realised what he was doing and grabbed his hair again, cursing and arching and gasping and giving him more to swallow. Matt’s dick _ached_. That power thing again. He could reduce Trey to such a yammering mess with only his mouth. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Trey breathed, panting. 

Matt swallowed the last of him, lifting his head to see Trey’s eyes glazed with bliss, hair stuck to his damp forehead, shirt hanging open—a perfect train wreck. Slotting his knees between Trey’s spread thighs, he kissed him and got back to the important business of jerking off. He shoved his tongue in Trey’s mouth, but he was too exhausted to kiss back, so Matt chewed his lips while pumping his fist instead. 

He pressed his dick against Trey’s stomach as he came, forehead falling against his chest as he groaned through his teeth, biting down on Trey’s inviting, soft shoulder. It shot out in hot throbs that locked his muscles and had him whimpering, feeling it pool on Trey’s skin. After a night of perpetual boner-getting, it was a blessed relief to finally release all the pent-up energy.

Once the haze of blowing his load over Trey’s stomach cleared a little, Matt turned into his neck and kissed his skin. Trey smelled of booze and sweat, and Matt’s shirt was quickly soaking up his come, but he didn’t give a fuck. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Trey whispered, hand resting on the back of Matt’s neck. 

Matt wasn’t sure what he meant. Then, he remembered. Something flared in his chest, kind of like heartburn. Did he regret swallowing Trey in the heat of the moment? Did that mean things had changed between them? Nah. He didn’t think so. 

“I wanted to,” he said, somewhat belatedly. He brushed his thumb over Trey’s temple. 

“I was so fucking jealous tonight,” Trey muttered, turning into Matt’s face. His voice was sluggish, like he might fall asleep any moment.

As they breathed each other’s air, Matt asked, “Jealous of who?” 

“The girls.” 

“The fuck. Why?” The whole thing had been Trey’s idea.

“Girls hold your attention way longer than I can.” Trey drew his tongue along Matt’s lip. It made his breath catch in his throat. 

“Don’t be an ass,” Matt said with a half-smile. He stroked his thumb along Trey’s eyebrow, around the curve of his eye socket and across his cheekbone. The touch seemed to relax him, his muscles sagging as he sighed into his mouth. “Want some water?”

“Yeahplease,” Trey mumbled.

By the time Matt returned, come-stained shirt thrown in the laundry and a glass of water in his hand, Trey was asleep. Matt drank the water as he stood in the middle of what had been Trey’s dancefloor, the last chords of _Brown Album_ fading to silence. Trey was a picture—mouth open, arm hanging off the edge of the sofa, pants open and dick out, Matt’s come drying on his stomach. He’d bitch about it in the morning when he had a splitting headache and somewhere to be. 

Smiling, Matt brushed a matted lock of blond from Trey’s forehead, taking a moment to look at him before turning the light off. Trey was an idiot. Even when he was asleep, he kept his attention. Hopefully, he knew that on some level.


End file.
